


Sin in the House of God

by bloodandcream



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Meg, Blasphemy, Demon Castiel, F/M, Supernatural Reverseverse, sex in a church woooooooo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 06:26:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3718474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodandcream/pseuds/bloodandcream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a sparsely decorated church. Scuffed wood pews, ratty Bibles, a single painted crucifixion hanging above the bare wood altar. Meg could have flown herself to any church anywhere in the world, she could have flown to Notre Dame and then Castiel would not have been able to reach her. But she was here, in this depressing place, because it was within driving distance of Singer’s Salvage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sin in the House of God

Castiel pulled his beat up old stolen car to the curb and parked. He didn’t even have keys for it, but he didn’t need them. Getting out quietly, he leaned back against the rusted side under a flickering street light and smoked a cigarette as he eyed the church. Traffic on the busy street behind him whirred by with the splash of puddles.

The church was a sad affair. Squat, brown painted cinder block siding chipping and peeling. There were small narrow stained glass windows punctuating the walls at wide intervals, no stories of saints and biblical adventures though, just blocks of color. The steel door at the front had a plain wooden cross on it, and proclaimed the church welcome to all visitors at all times of the day.

It was a roadside church for weary travels to rest in and plead their most important questions to a deaf ear. Castiel scoffed at the place as he finished his cigarette. He didn’t particularly have a good reason to go in there, at least not the sort of reason that most people might have. But he wanted the company that was inside.

The door creaked on old hinges when he opened it, so Castiel did not bother to hide the scuff of his heavy boots on the wood floor or the rustle of his leather jacket as he pocketed his cigarette box. She was there, in the front pew near the aisle kneeling with her head bowed and hands clasped in front of her. Dark hair spilling down that always immaculately pressed suit. As cars passed on the road they cast shifting shadows of color through the stained glass at the front of the building, high and warped across the walls in the small space.

It was a sparsely decorated church. Scuffed wood pews, ratty Bibles, a single painted crucifixion hanging above the bare wood altar. Meg could have flown herself to any church anywhere in the world, she could have flown to Notre Dame and then Castiel would not have been able to reach her. But she was here, in this depressing place, because it was within driving distance of Singer’s Salvage.

Castiel ducked into the second row of pews behind her and lifted his foot up over the edge of the first row of pew backs, hefting himself up to sit perched on the back of the row with his feet planted on the seat. Behind her. Head still bowed in prayer.

Hunching over his lap, elbows rested on his thighs, Castiel sighed. She must know he was here. Why she was fighting tooth and nail on the Winchester’s side - not heaven and certainly not hell, just two foolish humans who thought they could save the world from itself - that was a mystery to Castiel. Sure, the boys were gorgeous and they had a kind of magnetism despite being crazy adrenaline fueled killing machines. But for an angel to defy heaven on behalf of two human’s whim. It baffled Castiel.

It’s not like he was fighting on his own side anymore. With the dissolution of Lucifer’s army and the chaos in Hell, there was no cause anymore for him to serve. He didn’t believe in himself enough to have his own cause, other than survival. How he’d ended up helping the Winchester’s and their wayward angel is a messy story with no clear answers. Castiel likes to think it could be as simple as how nice the angel’s ass looks in her pantsuits. He knows that’s not the case.

When she unclasps her hands and looks up to the crucifixion above the altar, Castiel speaks.

“Why do you still pray?”

Her sigh is heavy as she pushes up to her feet. “Force of habit anymore, I guess.”

“I didn’t even think your brothers and sisters liked you anymore, isn’t it more trouble than it’s worth to call undue attention to yourself?”

The glare she shoots at him could make a lesser demon smoke out.

“Our mission is righteous.”

“Your mission to stop the apocalypse was righteous, look what kind of accolade that got you with the rest of heaven.”

She walked into the aisle and turned towards the altar. Castiel wouldn’t even say this little church had an apse, it was just a rectangular space with all the most important bits thrown in. He hopped off the back of the pew and stood next to her.

“I could explain myself but a demon like you wouldn’t understand. I don’t believe you’ve reformed for one second. You may have helped us a few times, done some good deeds, but that still doesn’t make you good. You’ll never be able to cleanse the taint of hell from yourself.”

Castiel laughed, stepping close enough to her to feel the heat of her vessel and see the dilation of her pupils in the dim light that wavered with passing car’s headlights.

“Did I say I wanted to? I’m just trying to survive and somehow your little ragtag group of misfits seems to come out on top of the pile of corpses most times.”

Meg pursed her lips and arched an eyebrow, clearly not amused.

“I’ll be watching you closely tomorrow. Don’t think you can pull a fast one on us.”

Castiel placed a hand over his meatsuit’s heart. “I wouldn’t dream of it angel.”

She huffed and walked further up the aisle to stand by the altar, placing her hands on the well worn wood and turning her face up. Jesus on his cross with his mouth twisted in agony stared back with lifeless painted eyes.

Castiel strode up behind her, placing a hand on her back between the shoulder blades, fingers brushing against her soft hair.

“You know, it could very well be the last night on earth for us - “

Her harsh laughter echoed out as she tipped her head back and turned towards him.

“Are you serious? The last night on earth speech? You know Dean tried that on me a few apocalyptic events back.”

Of course he had.

Castiel shrugged, not letting his hand slip from her shoulder as she turned.

“Did it work for him?”

“No. And it’s not going to work for you. I’m an angel.”

She swatted his hand away. Castiel pressed into her space, bumping her back against the altar and snaking his arms beside her waist to brace his hands on the wood there, boxing her in.

“You’re a poor example of one. Don’t tell me you’ve never committed carnal sin before.”

“No and I wouldn’t with the likes of you. Abomination.”

“I used to be human once. God’s most favored pets. Don’t tell me that doesn’t sting a little.”

She placed her dainty hands on his chest and pushed, more strength behind them than her small size would bely to any eye that didn’t see her true form. He could hear her teeth grinding.

Castiel leaned into the pressure and stood firm.

She tried to puff herself up but he loomed over her as she practically hissed at him. “You don’t get to pass judgement here. And whatever you used to be, you are far far fallen from it. I don’t care about your life story, you’re a demon. So fuck off.”

“You know, you’ve never really had that poise I always expected of an angel, but you’ve certainly got a fouler mouth for hanging around humans more. I wonder what other things they’ve taught you.”

Leaning forward to press his hips against hers, Castiel lowered his head. Barely brushing their lips together he darted his tongue out and felt a warm hand pressed to his forehead. She splayed her palm there and pushed his face back with the threatening tingle of her grace. She could burn him out in a second. But she didn’t. And once his face was far enough back for her shadow cast eyes to narrow at him, she stopped pushing. Bodies still pressed together. Arms bracketing her.

“Yeah and you’re not as much of a badass as you’d like to pretend you are.”

“What’s a kiss angel? That can’t even be much of a sin. Think I’d have to bury my face between your legs to really call it lust. A kiss can be innocent.”

“Not from you it’s not.”

He licked his lips, a minute twitch of his hips rubbing himself against her, cock already stiff in his jeans because hey nothing got him going like humping an angel in a church. There was just something dirty about it. Just a sharp edge of taboo and blasphemy and a fuck you to a God that he’d never really believed in, that had never believed in him.

“I know you’ve committed plenty of sins angel. You guys actually might have the humans beat on the counts of pride and wrath. How many cities have you burned and how many innocents have you slaughtered with a single command? You know, just because you hide behind God’s name, it doesn’t make you good.”

The pressure on his forehead was light enough to allow him to lean forward again, bypassing her lips, brushing his cheek against hers, whispering in her ear. Her hand twitched, fingers pushing up a little higher through his hair, more like encouragement than threat. So he pressed forward still, tongue tracing the curve of her ear, teeth on the lobe tugging it into his mouth. He could hear her breath hitch, feel her hips angle up against him.

“What’s one more sin angel?”

Her hand pushed through his hair and curled behind his head. Neck elongated, head tipped back, her other arm circling his waist, she offered herself up to him.

Hands moving from the altar to her waist, he hefted her up to sit on the edge, her legs parting to clench against his hips as he sucked on her neck. Smooth skin, hair soft and fragrant against his cheek, hands pushing under the suit jacket. Palms spreading up the graceful curves of her sides, over her chest, nimble fingers working at the tie around her throat. He always thought it was funny that the angels wore suits and ties, ties, like a leash, like a noose from God, a reminder. With a violent yank he pulled it away from her and discarded it. Buttons popped open, the swell of her cleavage an inviting place to bury himself.

She trembled beneath him, nails pricking his nape, hands pushing his jacket off. Her voice was a quiet whisper, a confused thing. “I don’t understand this feeling…”

Kisses spread over her chest, more buttons undone until he was pulling her shirt out of her pants. “What? Lust?” A nip at the edge of her plain white cotton bra, tugging at the material with his teeth as hands curved around her body to unclasp. “Don’t tell me you’ve got softer feelings for me deeper than the wetness between your legs.”

“I don’t know….”

Peeling her jacket and her shirt off, bra following, Castiel marveled at the sight before him. Pert breasts bared, nipples peaked under the pads of his thumbs, her chest hitching with her erratic breathing.

“I think… I think I’ve been falling. Does it happen all at once, or, or am I just going to boil slowly…”

She pulled his shirt over his head, spread her hands against his chest and cupped his face before drawing him in for a kiss. Sweet and shallow.

He breathed against her, noses bumping, a foreign ache in his body that was deeper than the lust she incited, “I can’t tell you that. You’ve disobeyed heaven often enough, I don’t think bad angels get to stay.”

“Am I bad?”

“Maybe a little. I like it.”

His hands were gentler as he unbuckled her pants, fingers dipping down underneath the elastic of her panties as he kissed down her neck again to lave her chest with his tongue, his mouth, feeling her shiver beneath him.

Small hands circled his wrists, didn’t pull him away but stopped his progress. Looking up, she was frowning down at him.

“We can’t do this here.”

Castiel shoved a hand between her legs, squirmed in beneath her panties.

“Do you think God is watching? He’s not even listening anymore, he’s not there. He doesn’t care.”

Dropping to his knees and dragging her pants down her thighs, Castiel nudged between her legs and lapped at the wet heat, twisting her panties aside and digging his tongue into the slick folds of her cunt. Meg groaned and fell back on the altar, legs slung over his shoulders, hands tugging at his hair. He could hear her, whispering a desperate prayer.

That wouldn’t do.

Ripping her panties, spreading her thighs wider, he’d worship her body until the angel praised him in the house of her father. Fingers pressing in to her body, tongue lapping up her wetness, lips closing around the nub of her clit, he had her moaning incoherently and writhing above him in no time.

The only word he recognized anymore was ‘please’.

Pulling her pants off the rest of the way as he stood, unbuckling his jeans and shoving them down his hips far enough to get his cock out, Castiel grabbed her waist and pulled her further down the altar. Slender legs wrapped around his waist and her delicate hands reached up for him. Castiel held on to her hips as he thrust inside her, pressing their bodies flush and grinding.

She cried out, fingers closing around his arms. Dark hair spread around her pale face, lips parted in wonder, the naked angel was splayed on the altar underneath him while the likeness of Jesus watched in utter indifference to their sin.

Curling over her, moving his hands up the writhing shift of her body to brace palms spread on the altar beside her head, he fucked into the tight clench of her cunt with a steadily increasing rhythm. The colors of the stained glass windows flitted around them with passing cars, shifting over her flawless skin. The door was unlocked yet they were undisturbed, people seeking a different kind of help than God past the witching hour.

Meg clung on to him, nails digging in to his back, legs wrapped tight as she rolled her pelvis up, back arching, breasts swaying with the fervent pace. Dipping his head down to press against the smooth skin of her chest, lap at the perspiration an angel’s vessel shouldn’t even produce, feel the thud of her heart beating rapidly underneath her ribs, Castiel shoved into her body deep.

Pushing up on one arm, sliding his other underneath her, he spread his palm against her lower back and pulled her up, angling her body and listening to the change of desperation in her moaning. Burying his cock inside her and grinding with sharp nudges rocking his body in between her legs, he felt her pulse and seize around him, slick and hot and wild. She dug her nails so deep into his skin he could feel blood trickle down his back as she screamed and held on.

Riding her through it, sliding easy in the lingering clenching of her body, Castiel had played this out in his mind quiet a few times prior, in his imagination with the company of another body or his own hand. He had imagined flipping her over and fucking her like animals rutting, making her cry as he held her down, tearing in to her body with his teeth. There were so many violent things he wanted to unleash on the angel, terrible things far worse than the sin of lust.

Instead he circled his arms around her, between her body and the altar, plastering their skin together as he rocked in to her steady and stole a kiss from plush lips. Her breath short and light, her body pliant, welcoming, as she moved her tongue against him and twisted her fingers up in his hair. He came in her with a low whimper, a quiet sigh, as she held him gently through tremors that weren’t of sexual effort.

Burying his head in the crook of her neck, her face turned to press a kiss to the top of his head, he lay against her on the altar and wondered. If angels could fall to earth, he wondered if demons could rise.


End file.
